Isolation Island

Isolation Island Hermit crabs and white sand Only space for one, thanks The rest get sent to the Drunk Tank It’s pleasurable at times but also rarely named endearing To be the only soldier at war amidst a colony of faith healers, spirtual leaders, and protectors of the people Admittance is the first step Second calls for the kill cam If you’re struggling by step three they push you directly into the suicidal tendencies dead pan Anyone named follower is deterred and lead astray Anyone who follows them was lost from the get-go anyway Anyway! Yesterday I found myself scouting the shipwrecks for supplies Hoping something from before my time could help protect me from the lies And so unearthing treasures labelled useless by their owners Has brought me to believing that Perhaps a spring cleaning of my conscience is in order ‘Uncertain of your fate’ is never beggar’s food of choice Defies the desired outcome Offends the inner voice Unpleasant often is the truth when you’re asking prophets to weave you fallacy for your own mind’s defense But at the same time makes no fucking sense Isolation Island Named a blessing Yet a curse in stealth Would you rather kill the ones you love or stifle out your flame of health? When the monsters in your mind escape the cage in time for feeding, would you last be spotted fighting or fleeing?